His New Life
by Mikee
Summary: He retired "early." Where is he now, and what is he doing.? This is my take on it. Just a little something that was rattling around in my head. Please don't flame me.


His New Life

By: ~Mikee

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Disclaimer: I own nothing but the computer on which this was typed. I'm only borrowing the player(s). 

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Pairing: None

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Warning ~or~ Spoiler: None

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Note: This is a one-shot

He lives alone now. He is comfortable with the life he's chosen. The solitude suites him and is so much more fulfilling than the notoriety or infamy of his younger years. It is just himself, his faithful owl, his hobbies, and his beloved home. 

He'd fashioned a home nestled on a slight rise, deep in a forest in Northern Scotland. The house isn't a grand castle, nor is it a mansion. It isn't rich in any way, either inside or out, but it is what he'd envisioned for himself, and truth be told, it is his first real home. 

True enough, in his younger days, days still colored by his naïveté, he'd considered Hogwarts his first home, but now this little house with its thatched roof is truly home. It is where he is most able to be himself, it is here that he allows himself to shed all masks. 

He'd built his home himself with hard, back-breaking labor and magic. He'd enjoyed the work, hard though it had been. Gathering and spelling each stone individually had borne with it a sense of satisfaction that he'd not known before. The physical, mental, magical, and emotional exhaustion at the end of a hard day's work lulled him to sleep with feelings of accomplishment unlike any he'd ever experienced before.

Mixing and spelling the mortar, setting the stones in an intricate pattern of alternating dark and light to fashion a Celtic knot-work design that ran the circumference of the house, a design with no real ending and no discernable beginning, just like life itself.

The stones used to make the outer walls of the house were spelled to repel Muggles, harmful creatures, and anyone wishing ill will on the home's inhabitants. The stones are held together by mortar that was similarly spelled. 

Other spells had then been layered one on top of another, many times over, all around the home, from ground to the top of the thatched roof, from the north wall, all around ending back at the same north wall. Spells for protection, spells for health and healing, and spells for privacy.

Protection, health, healing, and privacy. Those are his hobbies, his passion, his life. As such, they are reflected throughout his home, in the outer walls, within the straw that thatched the roof, and within each room inside.

Inside the house there is a feeling of warmth, comfort, and security. There is a spacious living room with a stone fireplace made from smaller stones than were used to create the outer walls. This is the fireplace that one day might be connected to the Floo network, but not yet. He isn't ready for visitors, and a Floo connection almost seems to welcome uninvited guest arrivals.

The smaller stones of the fireplace carries again the intricate Celtic knot design. A comfortable seating arrangement of two sofas and three chairs are arranged in front of the fireplace, and are accented by a coffee table and several end-tables all of a warm ash, which is carved with more Celtic designs.

Just off from the living room is the kitchen. It is painted an off-white and has, at ceiling level more Celtic knot-work designs painted in earth-tones. The appliances are wizard appliances which run on magic rather than electricity. 

There is no need for electricity in the forest, and that is fine. He doesn't need the mindless chatter of televisions or radios, nor does he care to listen to the endless hum made by the currents running through the wires. He doesn't know if others hear the incessant hum, but he hears it, and has decided he'd rather not have his serenity tainted by it's noise.

Off to the side of the kitchen is the library. It is the tallest room in the house, and contains thousands of books. It's height is needed as the room houses one of his passions. He'd discovered, long ago, a passion for books and the knowledge contained therein, and has forged one of his hobbies based on that knowledge.

The library has about it a welcoming feel, an inviting air that seems to beckon him. There is, in the north corner, a fireplace just like the one in the living room. In front of it is a couch with a coffee table in front and end-tables at each end. The walls are lined with many bookshelves which reach from floor to ceiling, interrupted by windows every now and again. The room is light in the daytime, thanks to the sun; and at night, thanks to floating light orbs.

There are two bedrooms in the house. One is a guestroom that is decorated in tans and greens, rust and bronze. It, too, has a fireplace like the living room, but this one is smaller and is only for heat. There will be no transportation into and out of the guestroom fireplace. The furniture in the guestroom is cherry wood which is ornately carved, as is the ash in the living room, with Celtic designs. 

His room, the master suite, is at the far end of the house away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the residency. As he lives alone with his owl, there really is no hustle and bustle, but the potential remains, so he's set up his private quarters away from that potential.

The master suite is done in earth-tones, too, but the tones used there are darker, darker tans, darker greens, and darker rusts. The fireplace in the suite is larger than the guestroom fireplace, but again not large enough for travel. He has arranged before the hearth, two comfortable, brown leather chairs, and an ebony coffee table. The rest of the furniture is ebony, too, and again bears his favored Celtic-knot designs.

The last room, not counting the three bathrooms, is the hobby-room. This is where he plies his craft, where he perfects the spells and enchantments, and where he stores the items he makes. It is also where he does his carving on inclement days. 

As with the library, the workroom has shelves from floor to ceiling. There are four rolling ladders that allow access to higher shelves. Aside from the spells and enchantments used in his craft, no magic is used within the walls of the workroom, hence the ladders. Additional magic could taint the objects on which the craftsman labors long and hard, and that is a risk he is unwilling to take.

Aside form the bathrooms, kitchen, and workroom, the house is carpeted in light brown. There are area rugs under the coffee tables. The rugs bare designs of nature; leaves, trees, birds, and the like. The windows are draped in autumn colors, golds and rusts with some dark greens. 

The ceiling throughout the house is spelled to reflect the true weather outdoors. All in all, the house is exactly what its creator wanted it to be, a safe haven, a refuge, a fortress, a home. Most of all, it is a home. His home.

Building the house had taken almost a year. He'd been carving the Celtic designs in the wood for almost six years now, and was almost finished. He'd done every bit of carving himself, by hand without the benefit of magic. He wanted the work to be his, and his alone. 

The carving reflects his beliefs, his drive, and the complexity of his life. There is a tranquility about the work, not just in the act of carving the wood, but the beauty of the work when it is finished and polished. It reflects how he felt, how he feels; both complex and simple, both hard and soft. His life was, and is, a plethora of dichotomies, and his work reflects that.

He'd figured out what he wanted for a career while he was still a student, and had worked hard toward that goal. Once he'd received the grades needed to accomplish that goal, he'd gone on and fulfilled his dream. The dream, however, had been not much more than a thinly disguised nightmare.

Nothing ended up as it had appeared it would. The so-called Dark Lord had finally been defeated, and the craftsman's work continued as it had during the terror-filled years during which Voldemort rained down his particular brand of terror upon Muggle and Wizard alike. The work was, all in all unfulfilling, and had forced the craftsman to wear more masks.

He wore his masks grudgingly, day in and day out, for so long that he feared he'd lose himself to them. He nearly did. No one really knew him, not the headmaster, not former classmates, not even co-workers. To this day, no one really knows him; and now no one knows if he is still alive or not, and again, that is how he wants it.

Back when he was still employed, he was an enigma to himself as much as he was to others. Lost was his identity, lost was what he thought would be his beloved profession, it had been tainted by the evil that had been Tom Riddle. 

Eventually, he realized all that was left for him if he wanted any kind of life, was to retire early and immerse himself in finding out just who he really was, and dedicate himself to his hobbies. So it came to be that he did retire early, well early in terms of a wizard's lifespan. 

He'd found the location for his home on the rise in the forest in Scotland. He'd built it, furnished it, made it his own, made it a reflection of himself, of the man he'd always wanted to be. A self-sufficient man, a creative man. 

His dreams of family now understood for what they were, dreams. His dreams now are of a different nature. His dreams now are to create. He dreams of creating things to help people, and is rewarded by knowing that he does that, and does it silently, from the background. He does it with his hobbies.

His hobbies. Yes, besides his home and his owl, his hobbies are what matter to him now. He has no visitors to distract him, and he likes it that way. The only reasons he ventures forth from his home are to shop for food, shop for books, and hunt for things to use for one of his hobbies.

His hobbies are, without exception, dependant upon each other. The first hobby is his love for his books. He combs Wizarding bookshops looking for new spells and enchantments to use in another of his hobbies. He combs Muggle shops looking for books on carving, and designs. He devours almost anything written about magic, be it books about wizards or witches, or books about theory or application of magic. Books are books, something to be cherished.

Another reason he leaves his home is to look for things to spell and enchant. He will use bits of wood, small rocks, almost anything from nature can be used. He specializes in protection spells. He'll find a particularly interesting rock, polish it by hand to a high shine and then imbue it with several strong spells and enchantments. 

He categorizes his stock of spelled and enchanted items by the magic used rather than by items. He has things that were spelled for protection of course. That is, after all, his specialty. He has items spelled for health, some for healing, some for calm, some were done for peace of mind. He even has a few that he's managed to spell to work as well as Veritaserum worked. Hand the person the item, and he or she would not be able to lie.

His workroom is full of things he's spelled and enchanted. He really has no need for them, but so enjoys the challenge of making them, and finding new ways to enchant items, that he just continues to do so. He's found the work to be more relaxing by far than anything he'd done at Hogwarts, or outside of Hogwarts, and so he continues.

Occasionally he'll remember someone from his younger days, and when he does he'll search his stores of enchanted things looking for just the right stone, or piece of wood. Once found, he'll add more spells for health, healing, happiness, and protection. He might even carve a special frame or box for the item and include his intricate knot-work in the carving. 

Once satisfied with his creation, he'll call his owl over and send the item off to whomever he'd made it for. He never signs his work, nor does he include anything that would indicate the giver of the gift. He doesn't want the notoriety, the gratitude, or the uninvited visit that knowing the giver would bring. No, he just wants to give a little something of himself, anonymously. 

He does include a note with anything he sends. The writing is always block-printing, as his handwriting is so distinctive that anyone who'd ever seen it would know immediately who had penned the note. The note always says basically the same thing, "Thought of you today, and thought I'd send something I made. I hope you enjoy it, and that it brings you health, healing, happiness, and safety." The notes are always signed, "Someone you once knew."

One might have thought the maker and sender of such anonymous gifts to be a sad shadow of the person he once was, alone as he is now, no longer immersed in his craft of old. But that is by no means the case, not at all. He is now exactly where he wants to be, and is doing exactly what he wants to do, for the first time in his life. And for the first time in his life he is more than content. He is happy.

Oh yes, did I fail to mention the name of the home's resident, the carver, the spell and enchantment crafter? Of course, no doubt you knew it is none other than former professor, Severus Snape.


End file.
